Home Sweet Home
by Anawey
Summary: Bandwagon ho! A 221b series!
1. Brothers

Home Sweet Home

Bandwagon ho! A 221b series.

Disclaimer: Seventeen years old, brown hair, brown eyes, female. As I'm pretty sure that does not describe Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I think it's reasonable to infer that I don't own Sherlock Holmes.

Brothers  
XxX

Holmes fumed.

Absolutely _nothing_ was going right on this _wretched _case!

First Watson had been dragged away to deal with an urgent call – a patient with pneumonia, or some such illness – then Lestrade had completely bungled their attempts at stealth, and finally, the client had taken matters into his own hands, rather than wait for Holmes's instruction, so that now the criminals had flown and he was in the process of hunting them down all the way across bloody London.

To make matters worse, it was _raining. _A freezing, icy down poor that sent him into fits of shivers whenever one of the drops hit the back of his neck, or some other inch of uncovered skin.

_Damn you, Mycroft, _he thought, growling. It was his elder brother who had set him onto this particular case, and he was seriously starting to regret it.

He could see the man up ahead, and pushed just a little faster through the storm, feeling not the typical thrill of the chase, but exasperated relief that he'd _finally _caught up to the man.

Holmes never heard the clicking of a gun behind him, but he _did _feel the impact of something solid thudding into him, and tackling him to the ground.

Only the familiar voice of Watson hissing 'stay down,' as a round of bullets whizzed over them kept him from fighting.

Soon, they were on their feet again, and the sniper from behind was being apprehended by Lestrade, and within minutes, Holmes and Watson had managed to catch the other man.

The night was remembered, years later, not as such an annoyance as it had seemed that night, but as a triumph, the final, most important moment – the capture of the villain – shared by two brothers who could not have been closer if they'd been blood relatives.

For what did rain, blundering, and very ill patients matter when they ended it all, time and again, together?

XxX  
Chapter one! I hope everyone likes these. I'll do my best to make them interesting, I promise.


	2. Black

Black

XxX

I watched, wide-eyed, as Sherlock Holmes lit into the other man. It was completely unnecessary.

Perfectly legal, even normal, but entirely unnecessary.

The man, a Mr. Guildford by name, had taken a swing at me over a case of mistaken identity (I had certainly never attempted to make advances on any man's wife), which had caught me on my bad shoulder.

Holmes had at once challenged the man.

I did not like it, but what could I do? My shoulder was still throbbing from the hard blow, and I doubted I could get Holmes to stop.

But this man clearly knew more of the Queensberry Rules than that Woodley fellow Holmes had once fought against at the time of the Solitary Cyclist; he managed to get in several good hits on Holmes, while well-meaning patrons and workers kept me in my seat, an ice-pack against my shoulder.

At last, Holmes landed the defining blow to the other, and with his opponent thoroughly thrashed, he stumbled over to where I sat.

"Watson?" said he, looking at me with a straight face, but concern shining dark in his grey eyes. It was then that I noticed the dark purple surrounding one eye, and the blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Holmes that was entirely uncalled for," I admonished as we left the bar, Holmes still a bit unsteady on his feet.

"I assure you Watson, it was _not," _Holmes replied, not looking at me.

"Holmes," I sighed. "There was no call for that. Wait until you see yourself in the mirror back at Baker Street."

"I am perfectly fine, Watson."

"_That," _I replied, "is _not _true, Holmes. You look like Hell, and you can't walk a straight line for more than five feet. In fact, I'm willing to bet you can't even see out of that black eye!"

XxX

Heh, Holmes defends his Watson. All I could think of when I wrote this was Jeremy Brett's Holmes totally kicking Woodley's butt in Solitary Cyclist. I think that's my favorite scene in the whole series. Review, please!


	3. Baby

This chapter introduces a character I may use again. I like her, but you guys let me know if she sounds too Mary-Sue. I'm trying to make her as not-Sue as possible, but there were limits to how I could get her into Sherlock's and Watson's care.

Baby  
XxX

"_Mycroft!" _Sherlock Holmes hissed, shifting as the small child was unceremoniously shoved into his arms.

"She _needs _a guardian, Sherlock, and it _can't _be me," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock Holmes growled under his breath. Mycroft had woken him up in the middle of the night to stick him with a small girl-child who, evidently, was their sister.

The little thing couldn't have been more than six years old, and she had the same dark hair and light skin of the Holmes family, but still Sherlock was skeptical. He knew that their father had remarried, but he'd never heard of children in the marriage.

Now, both father and mother were dead – the mother in childbirth, the father recently in a carriage accident – and the child was alone.

"Father's will labeled _you _as guardian, Sherlock," Mycroft went on. "And besides, you've had more dealings with children than me."

"Those were all _older boys," _Sherlock retorted, his voice dropping to a whisper when the little girl in his arms shifted and murmured quietly in her sleep.

Mycroft sighed.

"Do this, Sherlock," he whispered. "Please."

Sherlock Holmes let out a breath.

What could he do?

"What is her name?"

"The maid said it was Gemini," the elder Holmes brother replied. "It certainly fits. Flows nicely with 'Holmes' and she was born under that sign."

Sherlock nodded.

"I'll speak with Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft," he said. "If they agree, she can stay. If not, _you _must deal with her, Brother Mine."

Mycroft smiled, thanked his younger brother, and was gone into the night.

Holmes did speak with Watson and Mrs. Hudson. They all agreed that, for the sake of the child, if she did not settle in well to their life within a month, Mycroft would take her back.

By the end of that month, the study next to Holmes's bedroom had become a child's bedroom, and there were several toys scattered about the room, along with a child's sized piano tucked into a corner of the sitting room.

Mrs. Hudson had grown accustomed to bringing up a cup of apple juice or milk in addition to her adult tenants' tea.

Watson had grown protective and fond of the girl, from the moment he first tended a small scrape on her knee when she'd tripped on the sidewalk outside the flat.

Holmes had grown used to occasionally having a reason to play his violin at all hours of the night besides just the fact that he wanted to.

Gemini Holmes was there to stay by the end of the second week.

XxX  
Does anyone else like Gem? I hope so. If you do, guys, I'll start out on some other things I've got in mind that involve her famous brother, the good doctor, and her. Review, please!


	4. Basil

Basil

XxX

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson! Good evening!"

The poor landlady about jumped out of her skin at the tiny squeak of a voice from the kitchen table behind her.

Frowning, she turned to see a round little mouse, in a complete suit, with glasses and a moustache.

So it was Dawson, this time.

Well, at least the mouse doctor was neater than his detective friend.

Still, however, Mrs. Hudson did not like mice.

"Er, I was wondering," Dr. Dawson began. "Do you have any garlic cloves? It seems Basil's gone and over-done it again, and in this weather, he's gotten himself sick. Mrs. Judson is out, and I _do _need garlic for Basil's medicine."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, and moved toward the cupboard without a word, returning with two fair-sized garlic cloves.

"There," she said shortly, setting the cloves down in front of the little mouse who lifted them one under each arm. "That ought to hold out for a while, won't it?"

The mouse nodded, eyes bright with gratefulness.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," he sighed. "I've got to get back now. Can't leave Basil alone for too long. I believe you know how detectives are, am I correct?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I"m afraid I do," she agreed. "Mr. Holmes got himself into a similar situation last week. He's finally getting over that dreadful cough, poor man. Though he brought it on himself, I think, running about in the middle of winter without proper clothing."

Dr. Dawson almost laughed.

"That is the exact situation that befell Basil," he mused, smiling slightly. "Thank you again, Mrs. Hudson. And do give Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson my regards."

Mrs. Hudson just nodded, deciding that if she was going to have to deal with talking mice now, as well, it was time to start stalking up on extras of some things, in case the _other _221B residents might need them.

XxX

Chapter three. I guess it's easy to type up a lot of chapters when they're shorts. Anyway, I do hope everyone liked this chapter. Review, please!


	5. Beside

This one is based entirely from the Granada series, which never mentioned, as far as I know, Watson being married. Hence, no mention of Mary.

Beside

XxX

He couldn't believe it. Everything had changed.

Just two years ago, he had believed in invincibility and forever. Just two years ago, he had believed in never-ending happiness and joy. He had believed in light and goodness.

Two years ago, he'd had reason to. Two years ago, he'd had his best and only _real _friend with him.

Often, he stood beside a blank obelisk, which marked an empty grave; the best tribute he could think of for the great Sherlock Holmes, who's true final resting place was the bottom of the Reichenbach falls, beside the body of the sinister Professor Moriarty.

He had nothing left but the empt comfort of a medical practice, where he was reminded of his own loss daily by the connections and relationships between his patients and their loved ones.

At night, he was haunted by nightmares of that horrible day when all his world had crashed to a halt.

He had called and called as he stood above the falls. Once, he'd thought he'd heard Holmes's voice start calling back, but he was sure it had been only the roar of the falls.

There was no way his friend could have survived falling into that chasm.

So often, when he walked about London, he would catch himself watching for Holmes to come around the corner, only to realize that he was not going to, in his own person, or in some disguise. He never would again.

Watson couldn't go near Baker Street. He couldn't bear the memories.

That is not to say he strayed out of touch with Mrs. Hudson. They exchanged letters, and occasionally he had her over to his Kensington house and practice for tea, or dinner.

It was never the same. How could it be?

He still wore black. Colors and patterns seemed to mock his loneliness, and he found he did not want to go back to the way he had been (not that he could), for he felt it would be a betrayal to Holmes to do so.

Watson would never betray his Holmes.

And so, once again, he stood beside that stone obelisk, tears in his eyes, wondering _why _in Heaven's name, he had gone off to answer that blasted letter.

XxX

Sorry if this is a bit too sad. But I had to put it in. Review, please!


	6. Bees

Bees

XxX

"Ow!Sherlock! Brother, _help!"_

Holmes looked over to see Gemini writhing, swatting at small, flying forms in the air.

"Don't swing at them," he warned, coming over to extract the young girl from the swarming insects. "It will only anger them, and make them more likely to sting."

As he said so, Gemini felt a pinch in her arm, and she let out a yelp.

Holmes scooped the ten-year-old into his arms, one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees, and carried her to the part of the park where Watson was sitting.

"What happened?" the doctor demanded, on seeing the usually energetic girl held in her elder brother's arms.

"Bees," Holmes supplied, rubbing Gemini's back when she whimpered as the sting on her arm throbbed.

"Don't worry," Watson smiled as Holmes set the girl down. "You'll be okay. There's only a few stings. Now, I have to pull out this one last stinger. It will hurt, Gemini, but not too badly."

Gemini nodded.

"I'm sure it would be worse to leave it in, wouldn't it, Dr. Watson?" she guessed, eyes on the small black stinger in her arm.

Watson nodded.

"Exactly."

Watson gently took hold of the stinger – this would have been easier if he'd had his doctor's bag, but he hadn't thought he'd need it; they were only going to the park for a while – and tugged. It came out quick, and Gemini only cringed, biting down momentarily on her lip.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," the girl smiled (and Holmes did not miss the slightest blush on his sister's face).

XxX

Yep, little Gemini has a bit of a crush on Dr. Watson.


	7. Before

Before

XxX

Holmes had always been a solitary man. As a child, he had never really been very close to either of his parents.

Or his brother, for that matter.

When he was seven, he determined that the only person one could trust was one's self.

When he was ten, his mother proved that by promising to survive her illness, but then dying anyway.

When he was twelve, he learned that no man, however idolized – albeit distantly, in the young Sherlock's case – was perfect.

That was the year he was sent away to boarding school. It was also the year Mycroft went off to university. Before that, both boys had been home schooled.

When he was fifteen, he learned that friendships don't last, especially not when one of said two friends are intent on proving that just because the ice is darker in color, it doesn't mean it is thinner.

When he was seventeen, he learned that love was for fools; blind, naive fools who did not understand just how untrustworthy females could be.

When he was in University, he learned that crime could touch anyone, any family.

That was when he decided to turn to detective work, and the simple rooms in Montague Street were perfect, though when he saw the rooms in Baker Street, he felt a tinge of longing.

But if he couldn't get the money for the rooms himself, so be it.

He stayed on Montague Street for several more years, and the rooms on Baker Street stayed empty. Finally, he was forced to admit that he would have to find someone to split the cost with him.

But like blazes was he going to let whoever his fellow-lodger might end up being into his confidences and trust the person.

Sherlock Holmes had learned the hard way several times over, _not _to trust anyone but himself.

No, he decided as he mentioned his desire of the Baker Street flat to Stamford, he would not open his life to anyone, even the unknown person who would perhaps end up sharing the rooms with him.

But that was _before _he met Dr. John Watson, and learned what true friendship really was.

XxX

And that's another one. I wonder how many of these I'll get done in one night... Anyway, I hope you all liked this, and review, please!


	8. Bedside

This was inspired by the end scene in the Granada version of 'The Dying Detective', where Brett, as Holmes, is wrapped in a blanket when they're all outside with Mrs. Savage and her kids, and the Granada version of the 'Musgrave Ritual,' where Holmes has a bad cold or something.

Bedside

XxX

When Holmes promptly collapsed the moment Inspector Morton, his constables, and Culverton Smith were all out of the room, I nearly passed out myself.

It crossed my mind that perhaps he really _did _have the fever, and I was frantic as I attempted to wake him.

"Holmes!" I called, shaking his shoulder gently, and carefully tapping at his cheek.

I undid his collar, and checked his pulse. It was fast and thready, and his breathing was slightly strained.

Feeling his forehead, I found that he indeed had a fever, but much lower than I would have expected were this the river fever.

As I settled him into his bed, Holmes came to. He looked startled, and his eyes darted about until they reached me.

"Watson?"

His voice was weak, but still his own; not the feeble, wailing strains of a delirious man that are so frighteningly generic.

"Holmes, lie still," said I, for he attempted to sit up, but was met only with a hoarse fit of coughs that left him slightly out of breath and sagging against the pillows.

"It's not the fever," he murmured, sniffling, and letting out another cough. "Something much more familiar, Watson."

Shaking my head, I went for my medical bag, and made a thorough examination of my friend. The symptoms pointed to a moderate influenza; nothing so serious as the Sumatran River Fever I had feared.

"You've done this to yourself, I hope you know," I told him, frowning. "Not eating or drinking _anything_ for three days, Holmes. That's a bit much, even for you, old fellow. It's no wonder you aren't well. But, a week or two, and you'll be back to yourself, I'm sure."

Holmes frowned.

"A week, Watson?" He repeated, sounding incredulous.

"Probably more, Holmes," I replied. "You've done yourself a pretty bit of damage with this act. First we'll get the makeup all off you –" for at this close proximity, I could indeed see that much of his appearance was only makeup "– then you'll have some food."

It was not difficult to get his face cleaned off. Holmes protested, and insisted he could do it himself, but he was in no state to, and the task fell to me (not that I minded, of course. Holmes was my dearest friend; I would do anything for him).

It was ridiculous that he had gone to such lengths simply to catch the villain. Yes, Smith was especially dangerous, and I was heartily glad he had been locked away, but it was not worth the health of my friend.

When Mrs. Hudson appeared at the doorway to Holmes's room, the confused look on her face turned to very sharp concern.

"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson," I hurried to assure her, gently guiding her out of the room. "Holmes _is _ill, yes, but it is not the river fever. Mild Influenza. He must have contracted it from not eating. Three days of nothing is not a wise idea."

Mrs. Hudson nodded tearfully, though there was a bit of relief in her eyes; it was not the worst that we had been lead to believe.

"He will recover, though, won't he, Doctor?"

The worry in her voice touched me. To think that she saw Holmes and myself as more than mere tenants. She was truly a dear lady.

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson," I assured her. "He's come through worse."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, left to fix some lunch, and I returned to Holmes.

He was sleeping, quiet and restful, and I could hear only the faintest shadow of the frightful wheezing he'd presented when feigning that deadly eastern illness.

When he coughed, it was strong, forceful, not the weak, trembling splutters he'd faked mere hours ago (which was a greatly relieving thing).

Sighing, I tucked the bedclothes closer around his narrow shoulders, and sat in a chair at his bedside, ready to watch him in case his condition worsened.

XxX

Yeah, who else loves Jeremy Brett as Holmes? My favorite scene has to be the bar fight between him and Woodley. Anyway, I hope you all liked this. Review, please!


	9. Bullet

Bullet  
XxX

It was not supposed to be like this. Holmes turned furious eyes on the criminal.

The man would _not _get away with what he'd done.

Before the criminal – Denvers, by name – knew what had happened, he found himself pressed against the wall, a cane held tight against his throat.

"Give me _one _good reason not to kill you now!" Holmes snarled.

Denvers gasped as the stick was shoved hard into his windpipe.

He couldn't breathe; couldn't get a single word out. As such, it was not Denvers who gave Holmes his reason to let him live.

"Holmes.... don't..."

There was blood on Watson's chest, flowing from his shoulder, where the bullet had struck him, and more crimson at the corner of his mouth. His hair was askew, and his eyes were glassy in a too-pale face.

Holmes was at his side as soon as he'd rendered Denvers unconscious.

"Watson," he murmured, though to the doctor, it sounded more like a frightened whimper.

"I'll be fine, Holmes," Watson assured him in a quiet whisper. "'s not too deep... Painful, certainly, but... not too deep."

A close examination proved his words true, and Holmes sat back on his heels, relieved that he would not be losing his friend tonight.

Still, however, it had been such a close call.

All the way home, Holmes kept his hand on Watson's arm. There were no carriages out at that hour, and so, they had to walk back to Baker Street. It was at least one o'clock in the morning before their door came into view.

By now, Watson's wound had ceased bleeding, with the passage of time, and Holmes's makeshift bandaging.

There was still, however, enough blood on his coat to thoroughly startle a drowsy Mrs. Hudson into a near panic.

XxX  
'Nother chapter done. I really do hope everyone likes these. Keep looking for Gemini, she'll be back soon, I believe. Review, please!


	10. Brave

Brave  
XxX

We were trapped. My gun was half-way across the room, and Watson lay to my left, slumped against the wall.

He'd been shot, where I could not tell, and before I knew what was happening, my own revolver was knocked from my hands.

I could see no way out. For either of us.

I grew angry. How could a common criminal get the better of me? How could I let this thug hurt my Watson so easily? Had I really been so blind as to not realize what the possibilities, the risks, were?

I wondered if I would survive this encounter. Certainly not, if Watson didn't. If he had been so simply taken down, there was no hope for _my _escape.

And what of Gemini? I only grew more frustrated and angry with myself at the image of my dear young sister sitting curled beneath an afghan in my chair, perhaps clutching my pipe, waiting for Watson and me to return.

What would become of her and Mrs. Hudson? I had never thought to write up a will – indeed, what man in his thirties would? – and while Mrs. Hudson would keep her house, I had to wonder if she would be able to keep Gemini.

The most likely thing was that she would go to Mycroft. Not a horrible outcome, as I could be sure he would take excellent care of her.

But I knew she would be unhappy. The child had grown used to Baker Street, and was unwilling to spend even an evening in other surroundings, as I had learned when Watson and I took her to Pall Mall two months ago, to keep her safe from a case that should have been much more dangerous than this.

It was just a case of fraud. How the situation could have gotten so out of my hands was inconceivable. It infuriated me.

My friend – my best, and _only _friend – lay, most probably bleeding to death not five feet from me, and if I moved, he would be shot a second time.

"The great Detective Holmes," our villain – a Mister Edwins, by name – drawled. "Think how _famous _I'll be for this. The murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. And of course, his Doctor lackey."

My control slipped enough that a snarl passed my lips. But there was nothing I could do. Aside from a futile rush at the man – which would surely claim my own life – there was nothing. And I was not so desperate that I would try that.

No, there had to be a more productive alternative. Watson and I _could not _die here tonight.

Neither of us.

I was caught entirely unaware when a shot, not from Edwins's gun, reverberated round the abandoned warehouse.

Admittedly, I should not have done it, for it put me at a complete disadvantage; I turned about to find the source of the noise.

And there, both small hands clutching the revolver, was Gemini.

Her stance was unsteady, her eyes clenched tight shut in obvious terror. A fine tremor shook her little body, and I somehow found the time to marvel at the tenacity a seven-year-old girl-child could posses.

"Leave them alone!"

Then I had my chance. With his sights on Gemini – I will not deny that I felt a twinge of fear for my young sister_ – _Edwins was sufficiently distracted for me to make my move.

With Edwins unarmed, I was free to turn to Watson, the moment I saw that Gemini was behind me.

"Sherlock?" I heard her whisper as she approached.

Her round eyes were frightened, trained on Watson, who, fortunately, was not as bad off as I'd thought.

"It's alright, dear," Watson spoke. "Neither of us old men are hurt too badly, are we, Holmes?"

I could hear the veiled concern, and assured him as I knew how.

"Of course," I replied. "Now. Gemini, did I not tell you to stay home tonight? To _not _go outside, and _not _open the door no matter what?"

It had dawned on me that the small boy who had been trailing along the same paths as Watson and myself must have been young Gemini.

She had the sense to look contrite over the situation, at least.

"I'm sorry, Brother," she whispered, barely looking up at me through dark eyelashes. "But you said there was danger! And Dr. Watson was limping again!"

A protective fire had come into her eyes, and I realized just how blind I had been.

Good God, how could I have not noticed? Surely the damp chill in the air would have wreaked havoc on Watson's old injuries. How could I have not seen?

And yet, would I have acted differently? Would I have still told her nothing, merely insisted that Gemini stay safe at home? Of course not. The only difference I could have made was to be more careful of Watson. In the end, dear little Gemini would still have come charging in, bearing a revolver much to large for her small, slender hands.

"You acted very bravely, Gemini," I told her. "That I will not deny. But such rash actions cannot be tolerated. It is for your safety, you understand? You are a child. You barely know how to shoot that gun, Gemini. You are not even holding it right. In the future, I want you to promise me that you _will not_ disobey me. If I stay home, you _must _stay home. What if you had been shot tonight? Whose fault would it have been?"

She did something then that I had not expected a little girl to do; Gemini looked up into my eyes with a resolve that was striking, and far beyond her age. And when she spoke, her words were firm, and I saw that there was no chance that this would be the only time she was at all involved in one of my cases.

"It would have been _my _fault, Brother," she stated factually, her voice unwavering. "It would have been my fault for not listening to you."

Despite the tone of her voice – convicted and sure that there was no other reality than what she said – I could not see it that way. It would have been entirely my fault, for not impressing upon her the severe need for her to stay in Baker Street, safe and out of harm's way, had she been hurt. Upon me and no one else would the blame lie, for it is in the nature of children to be inquisitive, to almost dangerous extents, and possessive with what – and who – they held dear.

I would have to be very careful with her, I saw, if I did wish that brave little fool to come to some grievous harm.

XxX  
I'm sure not everyone likes Gemini, but several readers – and I myself – are quite fond of her, so she's here to stay. Anyway, I hope you all liked the chapter. Review, please!


	11. Blast

In honor of an old, probably dead, meem.

Blast  
XxX

Holmes and I sat in wait. We knew our signal, and as soon as it was given, Holmes had said, we were to move.

I confess I did not like the idea. Gemini was well armed, yes, and this area of London was well populated at night, but still, there was a danger.

Why Holmes had even allowed her to act as bait was beyond me. Perhaps because he could no longer control her. She was, after all, a young woman now – nineteen, engaged, and strong-willed in the extreme – and rarely listened anymore to her brother's warnings.

As such, when we saw our client move down the road, the familiar figure of Gemini trailing him in the shadows, I followed Holmes, praying nothing would go wrong this night.

"Come, Watson, we must take our places," Holmes had whispered against my ear. The night was too still to take the chance that our query was not within earshot. "The game is afoot, and we must be ready."

I stood, and was halfway to my place when a thought struck me, and I froze for a moment.

"Oh, blast you Holmes!" I growled stalking the rest of the way to my position.

Somewhere behind me, lost in the dark of night, I heard Holmes give a bark of laughter, and scowled.

XxX  
Yep. On the cover of one of the additions of 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,' it said something, and then 'the game's afoot.' Well, that was when 'the game' was still going on, so it got me, and thus, I got my friends. Hence, this little bit.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and got a bit of a chuckle out of it. I did. Review, please!


	12. Baying

Baying  
XxX

"_Watson!"_

It was the distressed tone that brought me, not the summons itself.

As I rounded the corner of a large boulder, I found Holmes, pressed flat against the rock, his eyes wider than I had ever seen them.

He was staring at something in – good God, was that _fear? – _the near distance, his entire posture rigid, left hand on the lower part of his chest on that side, right hand splayed upon the rock at his back.

Concerned for his well being, I turned to see what had so upset him –

Only to find myself staring into the glowing eyes of an enormous, spectral hound.

I was nearly rooted to the spot, and when my questing fingers did not find my revolver – I had left it back at Baskerville Hall – terror clutched me.

So the ghostly hell-beast was real, then. Was this where Holmes and I were to die?

The great beast let out a terrible howl, blood dripping from its great fangs.

My heart pounded, and I began to wonder if the demon could hear it. Indeed, it sniffed at the air before it let out a primitive, carnal, darkly triumphant growl and took a step forward.

The Hound gnashed its teeth, snarling again, then bounding forward, its mouth open wide, dripping canines fully exposed.

I shut my eyes, not wishing this hell creature to be the last image I saw upon this earth, yet I was too terrified to call up the faces of Mary, or of Holmes in happier days before this horror.

I heard the thing lunge, and sucked in what was sure to be my last breath.

There was a shout, I am not sure to this day if it came from Holmes, myself, or the both of us, but when I opened my eyes, we were alone on the moor.

The only remainder of the Hound was the fading echoes of the monster's unearthly baying.

XxX  
I'm not sure what spawned this; I haven't watched Baskervilles in forever, or anything else creepy, but there it is. I hope you all liked it. Review, please!


	13. By God

Even though this one uses the movie 'Young Sherlock Holmes' as a background, I still see Mr. Brett, and Mr. Hardwicke as Holmes and Watson.

Could also be why Watson decided to stay on with Holmes in spite of everything.

By God  
XxX

It occurred to me, as I sat at my desk one summer day in 1881, that I had some distant recollection of the name Holmes. It was so long ago, and so much had happened since, that I could scarce think if _I _had known the Holmes of my memory, or if it was my parents.

But when I glanced up at the mantle, there I saw the old pipe that I had bought as a school boy in a curios shop.

"_By God!" _I hissed, memories flashing in my mind.

It _couldn't _be! What were the odds?

But memory did not fail me. I remembered now, clear as crystal, the very first time I had met Sherlock Holmes.

"Holmes!"

My sudden shout startled him badly enough that he nearly dropped the test tube of chemicals he was working with. The look he gave me was a bit cross.

"What is it, Watson?" he asked, an annoyed sigh following closely his words.

I stood, and took the familiar pipe from the mantle.

"Holmes, we met _long _before Stamford!"

He looked at me, his eyes blank, before, a moment later, recognition dawned, and he set aside the test tube, laughing.

"So we did, my _dear _Watson!"

We fell to chuckling, and Holmes settled into his chair, I in mine. We talked long into the night, recalling our school days, and our very first adventure together.

Glad I am that it was not the _only _adventure I shared with my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes.

XxX  
Yes, I just watched 'Young Sherlock Holmes.' I loved it. It said in a description that it portrayed Watson like the old Hollywood image, but I didn't see it. I saw grown-up, Doyle Watson, just many, many years younger. I highly recommend that movie, even though there's a twist.

Anyway, I hope you all liked this. Review, please!


End file.
